Sam sat shotgun on the ride home from the Men of Letters kidnapping. He kept snatching glances of his mother in the rear view. No matter how hard he tried he just could quite believe it wasn't a hallucination.

At the rest stop, after Dean had pumped and Sam returned from the snack run, they sat waiting for Mom to get back. "She's not going anywhere, you know," Dean said. He'd caught Sam watching her more than once.

Sam shrugged and looked out the window.

"Hey!" Dean smacked his knee. Sam turned back to glare at him. 'What's gotten into you?'

Sam huffed. 'Just can't believe she's real. Or any of this for that matter. You were supposed to be dead.'

"Not really." 'Chuck and Amara decide to work out their issues somewhere far away.'

'And that's it?'

'I guess. Mom was Amara's parting gift.'

Sam glanced back out the window. Mary had stopped inside the convenience store and was talking to the clerk. He turned back to his brother and asked, 'What do you think she'll say?'

'Mom? About what?'

Sam pulled a face. Dean knew very well what he was asking. 'About the fact I can't talk.'

"Sammy."

'No! I can't be...'

Dean's expression softened. 'I know. But she's not Dad. Just trust me. It'll be fine.'

'Don't tell her.'

'She's got to know.'

'Please?'

'No," Dean said with a scowl. "I'm not promising that. But you should tell her.'

'Later. At home.' Sam turned when he caught motion from the corner of his eye. Mary was heading back across the parking lot to the Impala.

"Fine," Dean said. "But you better."

'Thanks.'

"Whatever," Dean said. Sam curled up in passenger seat, head against the glass as Mary climbed into the car. He was so tired, he doubted he'd be able to keep his eyes open for long. Dean was talking to their mother, but Sam let the sound wash over him. He had all but drifted off by the time Dean started the car.

When they arrived at the bunker, the three of them stood in awkward silence in the war room for a couple of minutes before Mary made a quick excuse and retreated to her room. Dean threw him a look as she disappeared around the corner. Sam huffed but went off to find something to write on.

It took him longer than he imagined it would to put everything down on paper. It was the first time he'd ever had to tell anyone the entire story and he started over several times when he couldn't get the words right. Not only was it difficult to set everything out in a coherent way, it felt weird writing notes to his not dead mother.

He finished his note and sealed it up in an envelope. He tucked it into the front of his father's journal and collected his notepad before setting off down the hall. If he didn't go tonight he would lose his nerve.

When he arrived at her door, he saw her light was still on. He took a steadying breath and knocked softly. In the twenty seconds it took for her to answer the door, he changed his mind nearly a half dozen times. When she finally did answer, he froze.

She smiled at him. "Sam," she said, warmly.

Sam couldn't help it, he grinned at her. He was trying not to go overboard and freak her out. He remembered how disorienting it had been to be gone for a year. Thirty must be absolutely dizzying. But, this was the mother he never really had the chance to meet.

He realized he was just staring at her when she stepped back. "Did you need something?"

He smiled, a little embarrassed to be caught out and shook his head. 'Sorry,' he signed, knowing she wouldn't understand.

"Come on in." She stepped to the side and pulled the door open a little wider.

Again he shook his head, leaning on the doorframe instead. He held out the journal, with his own note tucked in the front cover.

She took it from him, obviously confused. "Look, Sam." She was hesitant, watching him almost warily. "I know you have every right to hate me. What I did was..."

Sam flung a hand out at her, eyes wide and shaking his head emphatically. He held up a finger, pulled his notebook from his back pocket and scribbled down a note.

I never hated you. Why would you think that?

She gave him a strange look, but read what he'd written. "I madethe deal that started all of this. I never wanted you boys to grown up in this life."

Sam smiled wanly before flipping his pad back around so he could write.

You did that to save Dad. I know you don't remember, but I was there.

"You were there? You weren't even born then."

He shrugged. It's a story for another time. I just wanted to give you this. It's Dad's journal. It helped fill in a lot of gaps for me when he passed. Maybe it will help you, now.

She looked down at the journal still in her hands and stroked it softly. "Thank you."

He nodded and smiled at her. You being here? That fills in the biggest gap of all.

She looked like she might cry, so he smiled and turned to go.

"Wait, Sam!"

He turned back, surprised. "Are you okay? The whole ride here, you were quiet and now the notes. Are you sick? Did Castiel miss something?"

Sam shook his head. He couldn't quite meet her eye. He considered writing it all out again, but instead flipped to the front page of his notebook where Dean's childish note was copied out in his neatest handwriting and held it out for her.

Hello,

My name is Sam Winchester. I am mute. I can hear just fine, I just can't speak. I am fluent in ASL.

She frowned as she studied the paper. "I don't understand. Mute?"

It was an accident a long time ago. We've tried everything. Not even Cas can give it back. But it's okay. I really am fine. I know it might not sound like it, but I get along just fine.

"Oh. How?"

He tapped the note sticking out from John's journal. Just don't tell Dean I still use that stupid greeting. He'd never let me live it down.

She laughed a little. "Your secret is safe with me."

He smiled a little. Goodnight, mom. I'll see you in the morning.

"Night." She watched him leave, but didn't call after him this time.

The next morning both boys found themselves gathered around the kitchen table. Neither had slept much the night before. They had both gravitated towards the most likely source of caffeine and converged in the kitchen. Dean had even made himself some bacon.

They were talking. Which happened rarely enough anymore.

'I think we should give mom the books,' Sam said.

Dean didn't have to ask which books. He scowled. "I knew there was another reason to hate Chuck."

Sam frowned, but soldiered on. 'It's a lot to catch up on, Dean. They would at least answer a few questions she might have. And they might not be completely representative, but you have to admit, they're a good sketch of what happened.'

"Including thoughts and feelings that I'd rather not share with my newly resurrected mother."

Sam shrugged. 'It was just an idea.' He went back to his cereal.

Dean snorted. "Yeah."

Sam smacked the table, partly to get Dean's attention but mostly to vent his frustration. He glared up at his brother. 'Do you think I want her to know everything? Do you think I want to tell her about Ruby, or demon blood, or Lilith, or Lucifer?!' He punched the table again. 'She deserves to know. We're not just hunters, Dean. We are pretty much on every big bad's hit list. It's dangerous.'

'Yeah, I know.' Dean looked tired. "I'll think about it okay? Just give me a little time."

'Fine. I know thinking's hard work for you.'

"Hey!" Dean shouted.

Sam held a finger to his mouth, aware their mother was still sleeping.

Dean made a face at him. 'Just because you're jealous, doesn't mean you should go around insulting people. You'll never be the prettiest princess at the ball, but I'm sure someone will ask you to dance.'

'You do realize that would make you the prettiest princess, right?'

'Shut up, bitch,' Dean said with a snarl. 'I'm a motherfucking dragon slayer.'

Sam snickered. 'Actually, if I recall correctly, the dragons sat you on your ass.'

Dean looked perplexed. "When did we...oh. Yeah, you didn't do so hot then either."

'You blew up Excalibur.'

'First of all, it wasn't actually Excalibur. Second, it was supposed to be made strong enough to slay a dragon. A little bit of plastic explosives shouldn't have hurt it. And you were right there with me.'

'Yeah, but it was your idea.'

'Was not.'

'Was too.'

"Was not!"

Sam grinned. 'Dean Winchester, the mighty sword slayer.'

Dean stuck his tongue out. 'Better watch it or I'll decide to play hair dresser for you again.'

'You wouldn't dare.' Sam glared at his brother.

"Good morning," Mary said from the door. Both boys jumps and turned to look at her. She was leaning in the door frame as though she'd been standing there for a little while.

Sam recovered first and smiled at her. He greeted her with a nod and held out a coffee cup with a questioning glance. As Dean pulled himself together and said, "Morning Mom."

"Morning. Yes, please," she said to Sam proffered coffee cup.

Sam got up to get the coffee as she settled herself at the table and stole some of Dean's bacon. "It looked like I missed something."

Dean scowled at Sam. "Just Sam being a little bitch."

Sam set the mug down on the table in front of Mary. 'Jerk. I'm going to murder you in your sleep if you even think about it.' He sank back down in his seat to pick at his forgotten cereal.

"See," Dean said with a grin. "Even Sam agrees."

Sam launched a spoonful of soggy corn flakes at Dean who dodged it and watched as it landed with a squelch on the tile floor. "We need to work on you aim." Dean smirked, pleased with himself.

Mary, apparently sensing another spat brewing cut in. "So, sign language?"

Dean looked a little guilty. "Yeah, uh. Has Sam talked to you?"

Sam nodded at the same time Mary said, "Briefly. Last night."

"Oh, then yeah. Bobby taught us when it first happened. Took about a year for us to get really good at it."

"Bobby?" She asked. Sam kept forgetting that she wouldn't know who these people were. He hadn't thought to explain him in his letter last night either.

Dean nodded. "Bobby Singer. We stayed with him sometimes when Dad had a big hunt. He was like a second father to us, especially after the accident, and then when Dad died. He was a good man."

Sam stared down in his cereal. He missed Bobby, fiercely. Somehow that was the one death he never seemed to leave in the past. It still hit him hard even now.

"Was?"

"He died a few years back."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

Dean shrugged.

Sam got the impression that his mother didn't know what to make of their lives. He didn't blame her. It seemed like every time she learned something new, it was somehow sad or scary. He wished he could share the good things too, but most of his good things were so caught up in the bad it was hard to separate them.

She must have sensed the mood declining because she smiled and said, "I guess you better get started teaching me."

Both Sam and Dean turned to look at her. Sam couldn't quite believe what he'd heard. Perhaps he'd known in his head that that was the sort of thing one might expect parents to do, but John had never been taken by the idea and he'd struggle to try and pick up what he did. He hsd learned only a handful of words and phrases, mostly just enough to get by in a hunting situation where they had to be quiet, and then let it drop. If Sam needed something he went to Dean or fended for himself. It really hadn't occurred to him that his mother might actually want to learn.

Dean shot him a sideways glance and smirked. Obviously he'd been sure of it, even if Sam hadn't considered it.

Sam pulled his notebook out and scribbled, You really want to learn?

Mary frowned at him, obviously confused. "Well, of course. I assume it's faster and easier for you than writing notes all the time. Unless it's something just between you boys. I'd understand if you don't want to share that."

Sam shook his head. No! I'd love to teach you. I just didn't expect it is all.

She smiled at him, a little unsure. Sam could tell she was confused by his reaction but pleased that he'd teach her. What do you want to know?

"I don't know where to start to be honest. How did this Bobby teach you?"

Sam snorted and Dean jumped in to explain. "The thing you have to understand about Bobby," he said. "Is that he was a gruff old grump. He handed Sam a book and told him to ask if he had any questions." At Mary's disbelieving look, he back pedaled. "Bobby wasn't always comfortable with the mushy stuff. He might not be the fluffy bunnies and teddy bears kind of guy, but he made sure Sam and I had all the tools we needed. We always knew we had a place to come home to, too. Although he threatened to fill Dad's ass with buckshot if he ever showed his face around there again."

Sam chuckled at the memory. It was bittersweat to be sure, but it had been nice to realize there was someone on his side when he was still trying to figure things out. "Anyway," Dean continued. "The alphabet is where most courses will start you. Sometimes introducing yourself,"

"Okay, then. Let's start there."

Sam smiled. He glanced at Dean. 'Play 'terp?' He asked. At Dean's nod he turned back to Mary and signed slowly. 'This is how you spell your name.'

Dean repeated what he'd signed for their mother and together they started teaching her the basics. By the end, Sam was practically glowing.